


French Kisses

by WildFire35



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Begging, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Foreplay, French Kissing, Hurt Sam Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, No Spoilers, Protective Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Angst, Slash, Teasing, Wincest - Freeform, french horn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-06 18:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11042028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildFire35/pseuds/WildFire35
Summary: Sam Winchester pours all of his angst into playing the French Horn, but we all know what John thinks of distractions. Luckily, Dean swoops in to save the day, leading to a very steamy scene between the brothers. As Sam finds out, French Horns aren't the only wonderful thing that are french.





	1. Pleasant Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first time writing a fanfiction so please leave a comment to let me know how I'm doing. I know this is different, but I hope you still love it!

Dean sat in the Impala while it rained, watching impatiently as the wet drops slid down his Baby's windshield.

 _This damn light is taking forever_ , he thought. Dean continued to stare out the window at the blurry red light ahead before reaching down and fiddling with the radio. He stopped when he heard the iconic guitar intro that lead into Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train". Twisting the volume knob as high as it would go, he rocked out, sticking out his tongue and throwing his head back and forth along with the smashing drumset. He felt the bass line rumble through the car, mixing with the Impala's purr as it idled.

"This is how it's supposed to be, right Sammy?" Dean asked, turning expectantly to the seat next to him with a satisfied grin. His smile faded as he gazed at the empty space that should have been Sam. Suddenly melancholy, Dean turned down the radio, and sadly contemplated the emptiness next to him. He could have stayed that way for hours if the car behind him hadn't laid on its horn.

Dean snapped upright and saw the green light. He pressed the gas pedal down and glided through the intersection. 

 _Man, this really sucks_ , Dean thought. Their dad had said this would be an easy hunt, in and out, but it had already dragged on for two weeks. Dean was on his way home from the library for the third time that day, and they still had no leads. 

"No one said it would rain either" Dean muttered glaring out at the downpour. The normally sunny state of Colorado had been overcast for a solid two weeks. Dean broke his musings on the weather to pull the Impala into a parking space. He shut off the engine, and pocketed the keys. 

Dean stepped out of the car, and shielded the book he had checked out under his leather jacket before hurrying over to the door of the cheap motel room they were staying at. It was as unnoticeable as every other motel they had stayed at, painted a dull grey that was slowly peeling away. Dean fumbled with the keys in his pocket and dropped them in the mud.

"Son of a gun" he swore, bending down to pick them up. But as Dean moved to unlock the door to the room, he stopped. A sound caught his ear. Leaning closer to the door, Dean quieted his breathing, and listened.

A mellow sound, soft yet still powerful, flowed out of the room. Dean knew the name of the instrument making the sound from his spotty years in and out of high school. He had had a particularly interesting band teacher in Minnesota several years ago that had taught him about the French Horn.

The case momentarily forgotten, Dean crept over to the window and peered through. The cheap blue curtains partially blocked his view, but he could see Sam in the middle of the room, sitting on one of the hard wooden chairs that came standard with every crappy motel room.

In his hands was a brass instrument. It was covered in dents and scratches, but the light overhead still reflected off of its shiny sides, sparkling against Sam's cheeks. In front of him was a piece of old sheet music, brown and crumpled with age and use. It was propped against several books containing Latin exorcisms and one of the coffee mugs Dean had used during their stay but had neglected to wash.

As Dean watched, Sam continued to play, his nimble fingers pressing down valves, flying between notes. The speed of the piece increased, and Sam's face creased in concentration as he played the flurry of notes. But the look on his face wasn't the look of concentration that Dean was used to. This one wasn't one of fear and stress. Instead, Dean could see the passion dancing in Sam's dark brown eyes.

As the music got harder and faster, Dean felt his heartbeat and breathing increase, and had to wipe away the growing smudge of fog on the glass to see Sam. He felt breathless as he soared and dipped with the music, feeling the longing in each peak and each valley of the song. How Sam could convey such emptiness and pain through a metal tube astounded Dean, but he didn't care, as the mystery only added to the beauty of Sam's playing. Dean watched as Sam swept his hair out of his eyes with his hand before continuing. 

"Sammy" Dean gasped, entranced by the music.

In that moment, Sam was the most beautiful thing in the world for Dean. He loved the way Sam's eyes flitted accros the page, the way his hand curved gently inside the bell of the French Horn. Dean loved the delicacy in his fingers and the power in his eyes. He loved the heaving of Sam's chest as he played arpeggios and slurs, and most of all, Dean loved the passion he saw in Sam. Rain dripped down the back of Dean's coat, making him shiver as the cold water ran accross the goosebumps Sam's playing had raised. As the piece came to a gentle finish, Sam drew out the last note, letting the sweet sound hang suspended in the air.

"Sammy", Dean whispered again in awe. He had seen a part of Sam that was usually hidden. Dean had seen Sam's double life. He had glimpsed the pain and longing and sadness that Sam usually pushed aside, and Dean thought it was beautiful seeing Sam so vulnerable and open. However, his musing was ruined as he heard the roar of John's truck entering the parking lot. Sam must have heard too, for panic entered his eyes. He grabbed his French Horn and dashed to his room. Dean quickly unlocked the motel room and ran inside, sticking his dripping jacket over the back of the couch. He threw himself in one of the armchairs, draping himself on it as casually as he could. Running his hand through his short hair, Dean tried to make it look like he had been sitting in the house for hours. As Dean perfected his look of bored innocence, he heard the jiggling of the lock on the motel door as John unlocked it. John entered with a sack of something slung over his shoulders. His eyes were cold, and water dripped down his face.

He glanced at Dean's careless smile, and checked to make sure the salt lines at the window were still intact. While John was finishing his inspection, Sam entered the room, and gave John what he hoped was a grin as easy as Dean's. Unfortunately for him though, he had always been an open book. John took one look at Sam and noticed something was awry. He quickly searched through the room before spotting the sheet music sitting out. Turning back towards Sam's rapidly blanching face, John frowned, anger creasing his brow. His eyes darkened and his mouth turned down. He turned to look at Dean, whose smile had slipped. John glanced down and noticed Dean's dripping wet shoes. Sam and Dean watched in horror as their father slowly put the two pieces of evidence together. The gig was up.


	2. Dischord

"Samuel Winchester" John said through gritted teeth as he strode across the room, grabbing the sheet music. "What is this?"

"Just music, Dad" Sam said, cowering against the wall.

"Don't play me as stupid. The only reason you would have sheet music is if you intended to play it." John said, backing Sam toward one of the motel walls.

"And? What's so wrong with music, Dad?" Sam challenged, straightening his spine. He now stood eye-level with his father. Dean glanced nervously between the two men.

"Music is a distraction. And do you know what happens to distracted hunters?" John seethed, backing Sam all the way into the wall.

"Let me guess- they die" Sam said dryly.

"Do you think this is some sort of game?" John snarled, pinning his arm against Sam's throat.

"Dad-" Dean started getting out of his chair.

"Sit down Dean. I'll get to you later" John said, turning his fiery gaze toward his oldest son. Dean gingerly sat back down, carefully watching his father's moves. John turned his attention back to Sam.

"Do you think what happened to Mary is part of a game?" he shouted, pressing harder on Sam's windpipe. 

"Dad" Sam gasped, his fingers clutching at his father's arm. Dean watched, alarmed at the shade of blue Sam's face was turning.

"This is  _not_ a game. It's life or death" John said, moving his face next to Sam's. His spittle landed on Sam's blue cheeks as his mouth opened in an "o" like a drowning fish. Sam watched as black dotted his vision and the room slowly spun down, down, down...

John released his grip on Sam, letting him fall onto his kness, choking and coughing. Dean pounded him on the back as he spluttered, watching as John walked to Sam's room. He returned with his target in hand, the bright light sparkling off of the French Horn.

"Dad. No. No." Sam wheezed, crawling forward. Dean grabbed his waist and tried to hold him back. John stepped over his sons and raised the French Horn over his head. The light reflected off of it in every direction, landing on John's angry face and Sam's tear-stained one.

"Please, Dad" Sam sobbed out. John took one look at Sam, before he brought the instrument crashing to the ground. He smashed it again and again into the carpet, mangling tuning slides and destroying valves. 

"No. Dad. Dad, Dad, D-a-a-a-d" Sam sobbed, twisting out of Dean's grip and reaching for the mutilated brass. John stepped on Sam's fingers, blocking his reaching hand. Tears slid down Sam's cheeks as his gut-wrenching sobs tore Dean's heart open. 

"I'm so sorry Sammy" Dean whispered, tears sliding down his cheeks as he held onto Sam. John reached over for the sheet music and ripped the page in half, letting the pieces flutter to the floor. He stood there, panting, holding the deformed, mutilated brass in his hands.

"We're done here. Dean take your brother to your room. You are both to stay there until I stay otherwise" Dean looked at John's steely gaze before glancing away. He picked up Sam's limp form that was being wrenched by sobs, and carried him away. He gently set Sam on his bed, before lieing down next to him.

"Shhhhhhhhh. It will all be okay, Sammy" Dean comforted, his hand sliding up and down Sam's back. They lay like that for hours, as Sam's tears dried and the sobs turned to shivers. Eventually, Sam turned over to look at Dean.

"Thank you" he whispered, before climbing into his arms. They lay like that, comforted by each other, before drifting off to sleep together.


	3. Grand Finale

In the morning, Sam and Dean trudged to the breakfast table as usual. Sam was careful to cover the large purplish blue bruise across his neck and avoided making eye contact with John. He picked at his breakfast of corn flakes, (the right way to start your day!), not eating much. The hard cereal was too sharp to swallow without his throat feeling like it had caught on fire. Tension hung in the air, the silence only broken by the sound of spoons on bowls. Finally, Dean cleared his throat and attempted to alleviate the stress with conversation.

"So Dad, have any new leads on the case?" Dean questioned. John grunted a general noise, shaking his head no without looking up from his bowl. Changing tactics, Dean targeted Sam this time.

"Did you sleep okay last night, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"I slept fine", Sam replied, his voice scratchy and weak. He too refused to break off the staring contest he was having with his breakfast. Disgruntled, Dean shoveled the rest of his cereal into his mouth and put his bowl in the sink before storming out. After all, it wasn't his problem if Sam and John stayed angry. He was tired of being the mediator. They would have to grow up and face their problems with each other on their own, not playing tug-of-war over Dean.

 As he pulled on a clean shirt and the least dirty pair of jeans he could find, (which were still pretty dirty), Dean listened for yelling from the kitchen. But so far, all he could hear was a low murmur. Were his father and Sam actually having a conversation? They were talking too quietly for him to eavesdrop, but he still tried. 

Dean jumped when he heard the doorknob turn and threw himself out of the way to avoid being smacked by the door as it swung open. Standing in the doorframe was John, his hulking figure filling up all of the empty space in the room.

"Dean, I'm going to be out of town for a few days. I need to look at a new lead a few towns over." 

"Okay, Dad" Dean replied. They stared at each other, the unspoken words about Sam and yesterday passing between them. Finally, John turned away as if to leave, before changing his mind and turning back to Dean for one last remark.

"Take care of Sam", he said, before leaving the room. It took only twenty minutes for him to pack and walk out the door, leaving the house peaceful and quiet as he drove away. As soon as Dean was sure that John was gone, he walked to the kitchen and sat down next to Sam, who was moodily poking at his mushy cereal.

"Sammy-"

"Not now Dean", Sam said without looking up.

"Come on Sam. I need to know-"

"No Dean." Sam raised his voice.

"Sam", Dean said, his voice dropping lower to a threatening tone. When Sam didn't reply, Dean grabbed his chin and pulled his head up. Sam's eyes were red and tears dripped down his face. He had a large bruise on his cheek from last night, and the dark shape of John's fingers contrasted with the pale skin of his neck.

"Oh, Sammy" Dean said, his heart and voice breaking. Sam took one look at Dean before he burst into fresh tears and hid his face in Dean's shoulder.

"It's all right Sammy. Let it all out." Dean patted Sam as slowly his tears stopped and dried on his cheeks. They sat like that, in silence, before Sam looked up at Dean.

"I need you Dean", Sam whispered, his caramel puppy eyes piercing Dean's heart. Needing no further encouragement, Dean grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him into their bedroom. They wasted no time in undressing, Dean stopping only to admire Sam's beauty. Sam took charge, pressing himself against Dean, their lips slamming together. Dean pushed his tongue into Sam's mouth, making him groan in pleasure. He wrapped his hands through Sam's hair and they fell to the bed, a knot of hot flesh, all arms and legs.

Dean nibbled on Sam's earlobes and listened to the musical sound of his moans. He marveled at Sam's lips on his mouth. So soft. So strong. The same lips that he had used to make music were equally good at driving Dean crazy.

Gently, Dean took each of Sam's fingers one by one and sucked on them in his mouth. His delicate fingers that had flown between French Horn valves yesterday. His beautiful fingers.

"Dean, please, I need you", Sam begged. With that, Dean kissed Sam again, feeling his tongue curl around Sam's. He let go of Sam's fingers, and reached over to the bed-side table, turning out the light. Sam may be able to play the French Horn, but Dean could play Sam like no one else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! The ending was quite surprising for me, as I didn't see the story turning out the way it did, but I can say I was pleasantly surprised. If you loved it, don't forget to leave a kudo, and I hope you'll check out some of my other work! Until then, keep your salt handy, and don't leave your exorcism at home.
> 
> -WildFire35

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Again, please leave a kudo and a comment, and please check out my other work! Until next time, stay safe my friends!  
> -WildFire35


End file.
